My elementary and middle school home life was marked by hand-me-down t-shirts, oversized winter jackets without zippers, the smell of cat urine, unfinished homework, and wet socks from walking to school in the winter. Living in a state with fairly brutal winters, one would think that I would be dressed for the weather when walking to school, but this wasn't the case. My coat reached down to my knees, pinched shut against the cold only with three flimsy buttons as a last resort. Feet numb and stinging, face slapped with the wind, I trudged over the hardened ice on the sidewalks, lugging my backpack so full of paper and yet so empty of finished homework. Dragging my younger siblings along, I worried that my younger sister would really get frostbite, and yet, I didn't care. I was too cold. She needed to move. Attempting to move my fingers in order to adjust my scratchy, snotty, scarf would only result in scraped hands, so, making a mental note not to wear a scarf again, I hefted my heavy backpack up my back and attempted to warm my ears by lifting my hood. As expected, the wind immediately blew it off, leaving me frustrated as well as cold. I'd known it wouldn't work. I'd already tried too many times.

Don't cry, don't cry. That will only make the tears freeze, I repeated over in my head.  Perhaps I'd hoped that the wind had died down a little. Keeping my head down, I stared at my feet shuffling over the ice. Wet hair frozen on the outside of my coat, I couldn't help but try to warm it up by sucking on it, after all, I'd heard that one could get split ends from frozen hair. 

All this, and I'd get to school five minutes late-- no doubt because of the numerous times I'd had to convince my little sister to keep moving while on the way to school. I hadn't felt bad for her-- only angry that we were going to be late and that I had to spend two more seconds in the cold watching her snot freeze to her face. I hoped she had her microwavable rice-filled socks with her to put in her mittens, or Dad was going to freak out at her when we got home. 

My classmates' amused eyes on me, I walked into the classroom with my doubtless red nose, cheeks, and hands. They couldn't see my soaking feet, but I could feel them. Squish, squelch. My socks would be soaking the rest of the day, I knew that, but I didn't know that they would also begin to stink. As the day progressed, I could smell them. Not knowing if others could too, I distanced myself from my classmates, even as I played at recess with my best friend. Not wanting her to think I was gross too, I played less enthusiastically than normal in a bid to keep her from knowing. But her energy was contagious, and I forgot about it, at least for recess. 

At the end of the day, I made the return trip home with my siblings, sullen not only because of the pink late homework slip I'd received, but because my feet had just begun to dry and now they were wet again, the ice warmed up and melted in the late afternoon sun, creating giant puddles to navigate over. Knowing I wouldn't present the slip to my father lest he blow up and make my life a misery yet again, I devised a plan to secretly present it to my mom before she left for work in the early morning. I knew she wouldn't be as angry, or at least, I wouldn't see her anger. That was all I needed. But, I worried, I might forget to wake up at 4 and put it on top of her purse before 5. Or she may not even see it if it falls. Then I'll have to forge the signature. My handwriting was not all that great, and I could never duplicate my mom's neat signature correctly. But sometimes the forgery worked, and that's that really mattered. Only thing was that the teachers could compare the fake signature to the real on and see a difference, but I had to take that risk.  

Stopping by the downtown pharmacy for a warm-break and some popcorn, my siblings and I asked politely for a bag to share. We knew that we wouldn't finish one by ourselves, and it needed to be gone and diposed of by the time we got home, or we'd get in real big trouble. We weren't even supposed to ever visit the pharmacy, but the pharmacy didn't know that, so we kept on getting our free popcorn after school. Shoving our unmittened hands into the popcorn bag and stuffing our faces, we left the store out the back and continued homeward. Continuing to eat until our numb hands couldn't grasp around the popcorn any longer, we'd dump the empty bag on our way home, hiding it in the snow bank. 

Once home, we shed our coats and backpack and shoes, tore off our socks, and left them on the front porch "to dry." Really, we left then on the floor, causing them to be tripped over by our older siblings returning from the high school. Consequently, they were thrown out into the snow to teach us a lesson about putting away our stuff, and we were not notified of it. Later that night, I began to search for the pinkslip which was in my backpack, and found my bag in the snowbank on the side of the house, along with my coat and shoes. The socks had been left on the porch. Sighing, I shoved my un-stockinged feet into the nearest shoes and shuffled outside to grab my belongings. 

That night, I stayed up late in my bedroom-- if you could call it that, and not a garbage dump-- poring over my math homework. It made no sense. I looked back at the lesson, barely reading the sentences. This makes no sense! I began to cry, painful, frustrated, sobs that almost felt forced and which only gave me headaches. But I knew I needed to express my frustration, even if no one would see or care. Giving up on my math, I wrote in guesses for each answer so that I could say that technically, it was done, and not recieve a late slip. Staring at my bed from my spot on the floor, I longed to crawl into it and fall asleep. Giving in, I skipped other homework, planning to finish it in secret before school began. I'd need to arrive at school early the next morning. Leaving my work on the floor and crawling into bed, I ignored the scent of urine that permeated my blankets and sheets. They hadn't been washed the last time I wet the bed because I was too scared to wash them-- I didn't want my Dad to be mad about me wetting the bed again, and I definitely didn't want to get spanked. After a few minutes under the warm blankets, I finally crawled back out just enough to shut the light off, before cuddling up and drifting off.